


Now I know I’ve got a heart cos its breaking

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Protective Mycroft, tags will be added as we make progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25988107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: “It's not that I can't live without you; it's that I don't want to. There's a difference. We all make choices in life and I choose you.”J. Sterling, The Perfect Game
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 28
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft is 15, Eurus is 11 and Sherlock is 9 for the purpose of the beginning of this story.

Eurus had burned Musgrave Hall down.

Through all the panic and screaming as the fire raged and throbbed with a heartbeat of its own, Mycroft had only one priority. As always.

Keep Sherlock safe.

.

.

He had tried for all these years to keep Sherlock safe from Eurus. Had offered himself up for her experiments when she wanted to use Sherlock. Had tried to spend time with her, to keep her from being bored and resenting Sherlock’s friends. Had tried to teach her chess but she never understood the point of it and always flung the board against the wall and said ‘Checkmate’ with that dead- eyed look she had. Had tried to show her the constellations but she would start speaking of the big empty as though she actually could not see the stars at all and that would terrify him deep inside his very bones.

But still he tried. He really did. No 10 year old had ever tried harder to keep a 6 year old occupied and happy. A 6 year old who was already a sociopathic genius.

From the day the baby Sherlock had been brought home and Mycroft had seen the gleam in her eyes and he had caught her trying to see how long she could cover the baby’s mouth before he started turning a strange colour, he had been on red alert 24/7.

He had fallen in love with the new baby at first sight and without being able to say it in words, somehow knew that this was a soul reborn to be with him. It was not a meeting but a reunion.

Already a thoughtful and obedient over-achieving typical first born, he got even better at managing himself and his time so that he could finish his student obligations and be with Sherlock every second that no one else was focusing on him. As long as at least one adult was paying attention to Sherlock, then only Mycroft would allow himself to take his eyes off.

He started stress eating and became chubby. He started playing his piano more often since that always soothed the toddler and he would stay close by. Eurus hated the piano and would leave them both alone. But then she started teaching Sherlock the violin and Mycroft would sit in abject terror and watch them like a hawk, never quite sure how that would end. Sherlock in his innocent way was fond of her too and as much as his small attention span permitted, he would learn from her and play with her.

But he always preferred Mycroft. And especially when he was sleepy or tired or out of sorts, he always made a beeline for Mycroft. He just knew that this person was his safe space and his comfort zone. Whether it was to toddle up on his lap and fall asleep or punch him with his little fists when he was angry at the world, he knew with absolute certainty that Mycroft would always be there for him and that he would always do what was best for him.

Little did he know just how much Mycroft did to ensure that he stayed safe and comfortable. Probably he would never know but Mycroft bore the marks of that on his mind, body and soul. But he bore them gladly because it meant that Sherlock did not have to.

Mycroft had the scars from the time Eurus tried to cut his arm open to see how it worked when he hugged Sherlock. He had a small burn near his temple from when she had tried to bring a candle extremely close to his eyes to see if the flame would get reflected upside down and if she could watch it burn inside. He had so many nightmares that his sleep pattern was permanently disturbed and he rarely slept for more than two hours at a stretch.

He had managed to keep these hidden from the family and the world. He was willing to do absolutely anything to protect Sherlock and to do anything it took to distract her from using the younger boy for her insane and terrifying experiments.

But despite all his efforts she seemed to be drawn like a moth to the flame of Sherlock.

Mycroft couldn’t really blame her. After all, he himself had fallen in love with the boy at first sight. Even as a child Sherlock had a way about him. Something magical and volcanic in his demeanour that was so attractive in a primal way. There was something so breathtakingly self- absorbed on some occasions that alternated with terrifying hypnotic focus on others.

Mycroft also swung between enchantment to terror at the thought that these tendencies might be a hint that his baby brother was going the way of their sister.

So far it seemed not to be but Mycroft could never ever let himself relax. He was constantly gathering the data of both their behaviour and analysing every small gesture, frown, question, sigh, laughter……patterns upon patterns, deductions inside deductions. He created a Mind Palace for himself in which he could store all this.

As soon as he thought that Sherlock was capable of learning, he started to teach him too.

“You see but you do not observe Sherlock” Mycroft would tell the 4 year old boy gently. “Watch the narrowing of his eyes. He is hiding something. Watch when someone looks up and to the left. They are getting ready to lie.”

Or someday he would create puzzles and encryptions for him to solve. Other days they would recite the names of poisons and the effects. He didn’t know exactly what he was preparing Sherlock for but all Mycroft knew was that he needed to be ready.

Always ready.

Because disaster may strike any moment.

And he was right.

.

.

So when the house was on fire and everyone was running out, of course Mycroft had run through it in the opposite direction, away from his own safety, to where he knew Sherlock was.

 _Sherlock !!!_ He had yelled even as the smoke and fumes choked him and strangled his very voice. He ignored the falling beams and broken glass and ran and ran towards his beloved brother.

He had managed to save him although Eurus and their parents had apparently died

That is what Uncle Rudy told them when they had been found by the rescuers.

Grateful to be alive and in one piece, Mycroft held on to Sherlock, tears of terror and relief all tangled up, streaming down his blackened face.

_Sherlock was safe!! Everything was fine._

And everything was.

Except that Mycroft’s face had been burnt almost beyond recognition.

.

.

Sherlock had taken one look at him that day and something had shifted deep in his eyes.

“My.” He had said gently. “Don’t cry. I will take care of you. Forever.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others.” – The Wizard of Oz

Mycroft at 15 was already far more mature and brilliant than any adult but the law was the law and he could not live alone with Sherlock so they were both taken in by Uncle Rudy as their closest family member. Uncle Rudy lived in London for work but had a country manor, similar to Musgrave and had no family of his own. So the boys had a free run of the place.

Mycroft often wondered at the universe which had conspired to give him this slice of heaven. Heaven it was despite the horrible tragedy of losing their parents. He had Sherlock all to himself and no Eurus to constantly worry about. He felt mildly sorry that their parents had also perished in the fire but honestly they had barely been a part of his life for many years now. His entire universe had always revolved around Sherlock.

The biggest relief was not having the constant sword hanging over his head of what Eurus would do next.

The first year had slipped by so fast he had barely grasped at the changes taking place. Uncle Rudy had tried very hard to recreate as much of their former life as he could. There had always been a grand piano at the Langdon Manor that Mycroft could play but he also acquired a beautiful violin for Sherlock. The day he handed it over to Sherlock, Mycroft had been alarmed and stressed out. Sherlock had picked up the instrument and with apparently no flashbacks or memories of Eurus to disturb him had played a simple lilting melody.

Mycroft kept waiting for the other shoe to drop but somehow Sherlock had no negative association of the violin with Eurus and slowly, over many weeks Mycroft found himself relaxing around the instrument.

Uncle Rudy made available to them his entire library of course and they were free to roam the huge fields and the woods on the estate. The Manor was very sparsely staffed since it had housed only one man who was in residence rarely and was not really given to socializing. This suited the boys fine and the cook was in fact delighted to have someone to cook special meals for and the gamekeeper spent many hours over many weeks showing Mycroft the secrets of the woods and the gardens.

Their favourite time was of course the time they spent together but the special time was as the shadows grew darker and dusk slipped into inky night and they lay on a blanket on the grass and watched the stars. They were both too logical to even imagine that their parents had become stars, the way Cook had tried to tell them, as her own way of offering comfort. Mycroft had smiled politely at her and said ‘Thank you for your concern’, while thinking to himself that if that were true then Eurus would probably be a black hole that ate galaxies.

Before Sherlock could say anything bluntly to her Mycroft had steered him out of the kitchen and to the lawns.

Like every night during good weather, Mycroft showed Sherlock the constellations and discussed the big bang theory and the beginning of the universe. Sherlock would hold his hand and listen and smile when they reached the process of evolution. He would turn and face Mycroft and grin cheekily “And then we were born. That’s what it was all for you know. To create you and me.”

And Mycroft would smile fondly and nod in agreement because of course that is what it had all been for.

The entire universe had been created so he and Sherlock could be together.

.

.

As the weeks melted into months and they settled down into this new life, Mycroft still had nightmares of course. He often woke up in a fevered sweat, always to find Sherlock sitting up and watching him gravely. Sherlock would smile at him and pat him back to sleep.

Mycroft had tried protesting in the beginning and said something about being the big brother and he should not disturb Sherlock’s sleep and Sherlock had looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“You saved my life. My whole existence is owed to you. And you grudge me the privilege of helping you go back to sleep?”

Mycroft had given a wry smile at this argument and felt so proud at how fast the student had surpassed the master.

.

.

Uncle Rudy came over on most weekends and regaled them with stories from work, many names changed to protect national secrets of course, but the boys learnt more than they could have imagined.

Over the next three years there were six painful and complicated surgeries done for Mycroft’s face. Grafts, stiches, reconstructions, flaps. Along with that Uncle Rudy kept sourcing a wide range of miracle creams and magic remedies from all over the world. From the disgusting to the weird, Mycroft patiently tried them all, knowing to the core of his logical heart that none of them were going to work.

Despite all the surgeries his face was still badly disfigured enough to startle and even scare people who came upon it unexpectedly. But he did not regret it for one second. If that was the price to pay for Sherlock being safe and alive, he would gladly pay it over and over again.

However, it did affect him in other ways. Seeing the way people reacted was a daily reminder of his scarred and strange face. Already a serious, quiet and introverted boy, he withdrew even more into his shell.

He decided that he had everything he wanted in this house. Sherlock next to him, safe and happy, and an enormous library full of books. There was literally nothing else he desired beyond that and saw no reason to venture out anymore. He roamed the huge estate with Sherlock by his side and that was more than enough outdoors as far as he was concerned.

After that one time in the early days when Sherlock had found Mycroft staring at himself in a mirror in the passage, his eyes wide open and showing all the grief and disgust that he knew was reflected in the eyes of anyone who looked at him, somehow the next day all the mirrors in the entire mansion were covered by thick velvet curtains and no one ever spoke of what had happened.

Mycroft had not imagined that he could possibly love Sherlock any more than he already did but now he could feel a whole new level of love open up in his heart.

Now that every mirror was hidden, all he could ever see was the face of this beautiful boy he loved more than anything else in the world. But his heart still twisted with grief at the thought that this beautiful boy was forced to look upon this hideous, scarred and ugly face.

So he tried even harder to keep Sherlock busy because every minute that he spent reading a book or doing an experiment was a minute he was spared from having to look at his older brother’s ghastly appearance.

Uncle Rudy had arranged for them to be home schooled but after a year Mycroft quickly surpassed every teacher that could be brought in. Uncle Rudy then agreed with him that the library was far better equipped for their needs than any human teacher. The classes stopped and Mycroft studied for himself as well as taught Sherlock. They read and learned from a spectacularly diverse and wide range of topics from science fiction to poetry and zoology to fractals. Nothing was too insignificant and nothing was too boring.

They acted out Oscar Wilde plays and recited Japanese haiku. Sherlock preferred learning more about chemicals and poisons while Mycroft was more of a specialist in astronomy and history.

But they learnt new languages together, almost one a day, though Mycroft always maintained a lead on that one, once learning Serbian in just under 4 hours.

In addition to this, Uncle Rudy would often bring back discarded prototypes of a mind- boggling variety of things on the weekends that he came home to them. Encryptions, mechanical parts, electronics, data gathering machines, electrical pulsing machines, new kinds of plastics, memory saving devices, distance communicators, spy cameras, strange hand-held TV screens on which you could play games.

Most of the inventions were being promoted towards espionage and military purposes but to these boys they were just fascinating toys to tinker with. 

Mycroft was already good at patterns and deductions and now he flowered.

Initially it was Mycroft who would figure out things and explain them to Sherlock but by the time Sherlock turned 11 the roles had been reversed. Sherlock’s genius was also now in full flow. He was constantly experimenting with chemicals and machines and patterns and codes and using the prototypes to create something new every week.

.

.

Time flies when you are having fun and the days turned to weeks and months to years and before they knew it, Mycroft was going to be 18.

Mycroft had been in a very thoughtful mood for a week before that, wondering what lay ahead for them and aware that this bubble in which they lived could not possibly last for ever. Sherlock was growing up and needed to move into the real world and not be trapped here in isolation because of him.

He would miss Sherlock like a piece of his heart had been ripped out. No, like his entire heart had been ripped out. There would be nothing left for him to live for but he would do it because it was ridiculous to have saved Sherlock’s life and then condemn him to this house arrest.

He had been wondering how he would manage that and what he could tell Uncle Rudy that maybe now it was time for Sherlock to make the move to London with him.

.

.

On the day of Mycroft’s 18th birthday Sherlock led him blindfolded into his basement lab where he had been secretly tinkering with something for months.

Mycroft untied the silk scarf from his eyes to see Sherlock proudly unveiling what looked like an almost life-size tin man with a plastic face.

“A robot?” Mycroft exclaimed. “That’s amazing Sherlock.”

Sherlock gave him a cheeky grin and a theatrical bow. “It’s for you. Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft looked at him quizzically.

“Home Observation Learning Monitoring Education System. H.O.L.M.E.S.” Sherlock smiled at him, shy and proud. “I am still working on the Artificial Intelligence algorithms but I can’t do it alone beyond this. I will need your help now. I want to make it like you. A genius.”

Mycroft’s heart flipped inside his ribcage like a bird trying to escape.

_What he had done to deserve this wonderful boy he would never know._

“Thank you Sherlock. This is such a fascinating gift! I would love to work on this with you. We will make it like me.” He gave him a half smile. “Maybe even cleverer than me.”

Then he went closer to the robot and touched his face and said softly with a bitter huff, almost to himself. “His face already looks better than mine anyway.”

But Sherlock heard that. He took a sharp breath and clenched his jaw. He stepped closer to the robot and reached out and ripped the face off the robot and threw it away.

“Sherlock! What did you do?!” Mycroft exclaimed, shocked at this act of violence.

Sherlock turned and looked at Mycroft, trembling with anger. “Don’t you ever EVER say something like that again Mycroft. There is no face more beautiful than yours. Don’t you know that beauty is a social construct shaped by childhood influences? Yours is the most beautiful face to me.”

Mycroft looked at this angry young man who was shaking with rage and he spoke gently in a voice choked with unshed tears. “Oh Sherlock…..yes…you are right about the social construct ……..but maybe my standards are much higher dearest …….because I get to look at you every day.”

Sherlock blushed and looked away. “Stop that Mycroft. Don’t tease me!”

Mycroft came closer and spoke softly. “Would I lie to you dearest?”

“You think I look good?” Sherlock asked shyly.

Mycroft smiled. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate:”

“Oh stop it Mycie.” Sherlock said, blushing red.

“Poetry is not just words for the sake of words Sherlock.” Mycroft reminded him. “Words can conceal but also reveal.”

“Well then I say this to you.” Sherlock said with his chin raised in a stubborn tilt. “So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Mycroft looked upon Sherlock, this stubborn, beautiful, generous, brilliant boy, and reached out to touch his face, when a strange loud sound emerged from the robot and startled them both. The robot had moved forward a little and was raising its arm.

Sherlock laughed and shook his head. “I am trying to teach it the three laws of robotics. Maybe it thought you were trying to harm me when you moved your hand. Rule number 1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “Well if me touching you is going to trigger an attack response, we clearly need to do a lot of work on those algorithms!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Isaac Asimov's "Three Laws of Robotics"  
> 1\. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.  
> 2\. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.  
> 3\. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law. 
> 
> Before Asimov science fiction was filled with dangerous killer robots. After him we have friendly, almost human androids. The three laws are important to get in the right order because that matters!
> 
> These laws were invented for science fiction, but they are treated with great credibility in the field of robotics (after all, Asimov came up with the word robotics). Should the day come when we have reasoning, intelligent robots, you can bet that Asimov's Laws will be the first in  
> .  
> b) https://edition.cnn.com/2017/08/10/us/90s-technology-fads-trnd/index.html
> 
> c) Sonnet 18. Shakespeare  
> Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?  
> Thou art more lovely and more temperate:  
> Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
> And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:  
> Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
> And often is his gold complexion dimmed;  
> And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
> By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed:  
> But thy eternal summer shall not fade,  
> Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;  
> Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade  
> When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:  
> So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,  
> So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think... if it is true that there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts.”  
> ― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

Building a robot was not easy even for geniuses simply because the technology did not yet exist to the level of perfection and detail they desired. So it became Sherlock’s pet project and Mycroft would often find him there in the basement ‘lab’, sometimes chattering away to the robot as he explained what he was planning to do and how or why.

Mycroft would tease Sherlock and call him Victor as in Victor Frankenstein and would say that he was worried about the monster in the basement.

He would have never ever have confessed but he would always feel a twinge of jealousy whenever he heard Sherlock talk to Mr. Holmes like he was a real person.

It is true that the experiment of ‘making friends’ with others had been disastrous and he had never wanted anyone other than Sherlock, but the thought that Sherlock may find entertainment, enjoyment and even companionship with anyone other than himself , even if that ‘other’ was a machine with a voice…..just made his insides twist a little bit.

Of course he knew it was inevitable and he had read enough and was pragmatic enough to know that nothing was permanent except change and that as surely as night follows day, one of these days they would go their separate ways……but this mechanical intruder just made the potential separation a bit more real.

He had an undercurrent of doubt and now more than ever he wondered….if the intensity of love that he felt was Sherlock was somewhat beyond the realm of normal…..more of an addiction perhaps……more of an illness where his heart had been struck with a love fever…..and he had to always remind himself not to let it show too much or too often.

He had to always be careful not to place the burden of his ridiculous love on the young shoulders of his beloved.

Sometimes it was difficult to hide it too well.

Just last evening he had gone to find Sherlock and get him to eat some dinner and had stopped in the passage when he heard Sherlock talking. The robot had gone beyond the early days of ‘yes’ ‘no ‘and even longer phrases like a ‘yes of course’ or a ‘no thank you’. Nowadays it was more likely ‘Yes, I do believe that would be accurate’ or ‘No, I am afraid you didn’t quite grasp what I was saying.’

And it would all be delivered with the inflection and accent of the one and only Mycroft Holmes. It still sounded too metallic of course and Sherlock had been working on the voice modulator and refining the electrolarynx.

So Mycroft had entered the room and asked with a wry half smile “I hope I am not interrupting something!”

Sherlock was used to his gentle teasing so he just rolled his eyes and carried on working on the circuit breaker. “Come on in Mycie. You know I am just trying to get him to pass the Turing test.”

“You call it ‘Him’?” Mycroft asked with a frown.

“Feels odd to call him ‘it’” Sherlock explained with a shrug. “He is you.”

Mycroft was not sure if that made him feel better or worse.

_Being replaced by yourself……..was that a good thing or the worst thing?!_

.

.

Meanwhile Mycroft had become increasingly busy helping Uncle Rudy in an unofficial capacity but Sherlock could not stand all the diplomatic intrigues and global politics discussions. They bored him out of his skull.

The only time he perked up was when Uncle Rudy shared stories of murders.

On a couple of occasions Mycroft thought he had seen Uncle Rudy look at Sherlock in an assessing way after he had shared one of these gory stories that had made Sherlock so gleeful.

Mycroft himself worried about Sherlock constantly and although the younger man had forgotten Eurus almost entirely, Mycroft never would. He watched and observed and speculated. Always looking for any sign that Sherlock may have any behavioural trait that resembled Eurus. He had not noticed anything so far and he was worried when he noticed that thoughtful expression on Uncle Rudy’s face.

Bu then he remembered that Uncle Rudy had no idea how evil Eurus had been.

Surely no one had known. Not even their parents.

So he dismissed his observation as a misinterpretation. Probably Uncle Rudy was just worried about Sherlock’s future, as he should by all rights.

Mycroft worried about him too.

Constantly.

.

.

On weekends when Uncle Rudy and Mycroft were discussing the Middle East and oil politics and China and Russia and such like, Sherlock would find the time to tinker with Mr. Holmes.

Mycroft thought it was a good change for him anyway since they were together every minute of every day. And every night.

When Sherlock had turned 13 Mycroft had delicately tried to suggest that he may want his privacy and a separate room. Sherlock had heard him out and then rolled his eyes.

“Mycroft, your body and mine, they are just Transport! Sex does not interest me. These urges are in my control. I am not in theirs. I would rather be in your presence and enjoy the company of your mind than live alone in a room and have my ‘privacy’” He said with an emphasis on the last word. Then he stopped and frowned. “Unless you would prefer to be alone?”

“No my dear boy.” Mycroft hastily reassured him. “You are right. This body is mere transport. And you are always in my mind and heart so I am never really alone anyway.” and he gave Sherlock a fond smile.

He was sure his face twisted into an ugly grimace thanks to all the scars but Sherlock seemed to just glow in response.

.

.

It was a good many months since Mycroft had tentatively broached the subject of Sherlock moving to London. Uncle Rudy had considered it and then explained to Mycroft that the separation would do Sherlock more harm than good. He asked Mycroft if he would agree to move to London too and that was one thing Mycroft knew he certainly could not do.

So they stayed on in Langdon Manor, inside their own private universe.

.

.

Almost as though they were two parts of one brain, Sherlock was the rational, logical left side who invented and recreated machines like walkie-talkies, solar panels, motion sensor cameras, bulletproof material and solving puzzles while Mycroft was the creative right side who was the artistic one, writing poems and painting landscapes and charcoal drawings featuring Sherlock and analyzing trends and patterns in world events.

But of course they complemented each other to a perfect degree. Mycroft’s landscapes were often full of dystopian science fiction scenes with alien warfare and Sherlock’s bulletproof cloth was woven in with the design of a Van Gogh painting. Mycroft’s poems were as likely to be about war and destruction as about romantic love and Sherlock’s walkie-talkies were used as often to plan an ambush on the poor beleaguered game keeper as they were to chat with Cook to plan a surprise cake for Mycroft.

The one pet project they both worked on together every possible free moment they got was Mr. Holmes.

As the project continued over the next couple of years, the robot became more sophisticated. The guttural mechanical yes/ no sounds were replaced by a more soothing tone. The face started to appear more humanoid in its expressions despite being devoid of any covering layer. The algorithms for conversation became more refined.

Sherlock’s dream was to pass the Turing test. He wanted this robot to have the artificial intelligence capacity to pass for a human during a conversation. He knew he could do it. It would take time but he knew it could be done.

No one had done it yet but he had the confidence that if he and Mycroft worked on it together, nothing was impossible.

.

.

Uncle Rudy knew that the boys were happy but he did occasionally worry about the way they lived in isolation. Sometimes he wondered whether the strong bond between the two would survive socializing with others.

He felt sorry for the older boy. He would have grown into a fairly good- looking young man and with the Holmes family name, would have been quite the eligible bachelor. He still could be perhaps if he could find someone willing to see the wonderful person behind that scarred face. Musgrave Hall may have burnt down, but the estate was still substantial and the inheritance rather large.

Bu then sometimes he wondered whether Mycroft would care for a young woman at all. He didn’t judge such preferences but the world might. For now, the least said, soonest mended, so he kept all these worries and concerns to himself.

When they had just moved in with him, all those years ago, he had tried to find them some company, wanting them to make friends. He had invited some boys their age from the village outside the estate for tea and a game of cricket.

After the other boys had left that evening, Mycroft and Sherlock had looked back at him in horror and declared that they never wanted to have anything to do with the goldfish again or their brains might melt or catch fire or leak out of their heads from the sheer ghastly boredom and dumbness of it all.

So that was the end of that.

In recent years he had broached the topic again a couple of times with Mycroft and once with Sherlock. While Mycroft had of course been polite and sophisticated and diplomatic in his response, he had basically said the same thing that Sherlock had told him directly and abruptly. “Uncle Rudy, hell is other people. I don’t need anyone else besides my brother. Now go away and don’t disturb me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Turing test, developed by Alan Turing in 1950, is a test of a machine's ability to exhibit intelligent behaviour equivalent to, or indistinguishable from, that of a human. Turing proposed that a human evaluator would judge natural language conversations between a human and a machine designed to generate human-like responses. The evaluator would be aware that one of the two partners in conversation is a machine, and all participants would be separated from one another. The conversation would be limited to a text-only channel such as a computer keyboard and screen so the result would not depend on the machine's ability to render words as speech. If the evaluator cannot reliably tell the machine from the human, the machine is said to have passed the test.   
> https://www.geeksforgeeks.org/turing-test-artificial-intelligence/


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hearts Live By Being Wounded” -Oscar Wilde

On the day of Mycroft’s 21st birthday Uncle Rudy came home unexpectedly early and saw the young man standing near the library, back to him. He called out and heard a response and walked closer to him, wondering why Mycroft was wearing this odd metal skull cap when he saw Sherlock come racing down the passage shouting “Mr. Holmes! Stop!”

The ‘young man’ turned around, dressed impeccably in a tweed coat and khakis with a soft blue shirt and a startling metal face and said “Hello Sherlock, I missed you”, in a voice that sounded exactly like Mycroft’s.

Uncle Rudy blinked and leaned against the wall, stunned at what he was seeing.

After many cups of strong tea had been consumed and the entire secret project was finally revealed, Uncle Rudy was amazed and proud and even shocked at the sheer audacity of it all.

He had known that all 3 siblings had shown exceptional genius but this was truly astounding.

_A humanoid robot that was almost close to passing the Turing test?!_ It was far and beyond anything that their own inventors and researchers had been able to come up with. This could be an incredible asset for national security.

An idea took root.

He examined the idea carefully. He explored it from all angles, considered the pitfalls, assessed the benefits.

After a month of letting the idea incubate and grow he finally knew what needed to be done.

.

.

He spoke to Mycroft and gave him an outline of what he thought would be the best plan to make sure that Sherlock could be moved out of this isolation on the estate and that his clear genius be utilized for the good of Queen and country.

He explained to Mycroft that the solution had in fact been created by Sherlock himself. The robot would live openly as Sherlock’s older brother who was a bit of a loner and a genius, while maintaining surveillance on Sherlock and helping them fight crime. Mycroft would also live in London of course but not openly and in the same house as Sherlock.

.

.

Mycroft will never forget that night as thoughts swirled through his brain like a veritable storm. _To live in a house that did not contain Sherlock?! Uncle Rudy might as well as have consigned him to the depths of Hell. His personal Hell._

But he was right. Sherlock deserved more. Better. Normal. Real.

This life was like being an enchanted bubble. A fairy tale. The spell was going to be broken any day now.

Perhaps Sherlock would also find a Prince Charming who would give him the kiss of true love, while Mycroft was of course condemned to live his life out of sight, like the ugly and hideous Beast that he was.

Mycroft could scarcely believe how fast the years had passed since he first set eyes on Sherlock. He had loved him then and he loved him now but the depth had only increased and the colour of that love had become something he barely had the courage to admit. He loved Sherlock but he was also deeply in love with him. For that is what it was. He knew it now. He had denied it. Struggled with it. Hidden it even from himself.

But now the impending separation did not allow him to lie to himself anymore. As disgusting, despicable and heinous as it was, it was the bitter truth. The only love he ever wanted was from the one person he could never have it from.

Not that Sherlock did not love him. Of course he did. Deeply and truly. But not the way he wanted.

Never the way he wanted.

So it was best that they separate. It really was better that way.

Mycroft turned to his side so he could watch the angelic beautiful boy sleeping next to him and he wept silent hot tears.

‘Goodbye Sherlock.’ he whispered, the dreaded parting already so close that he could feel it.

It was the beginning of the end.

.

.

While Mycroft was still wondering how and when he would break the news to his beloved, Uncle Rudy spoke to Sherlock and explained to him his worry that Mycroft was likely to go into depression as Sherlock grows older and Mycroft would feel less useful as a big brother. The best solution would be to keep Mycroft busy with secret service work and for that he needed to be in London.

“The robot can move around openly and keep you company. After all it is going to pass the Turing test soon and should help you not miss Mycroft too much. Maybe we can plan for once a month uploads from Mycroft as updates. Mycroft can stay in the Holmes chambers below the Diogenes club, it is all connected in a triangle with Baker Street and the Palace.”

Sherlock spent two entire days in deep thought as he reviewed this plan from every possible angle and from a few impossible ones.

After all, once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

And the truth was that Mycroft was already lonely. He had saved Sherlock’s life at the cost of his own in a way. This life of his was a limited one. Mycroft deserved better. Far far better.

He needed to fulfil his own potential beyond just being a baby sitter and companion to his idiot younger brother. _He was so brilliant he could rule the world_ Sherlock thought with pride. So yes, he would agree to Uncle Rudy’s plan and make sure that nothing would come in the way of Mycroft’s fulfilment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.”  
> ― Rumi

Once the decision had been taken Uncle Rudy got things moving, discretely but precisely. A residence was identified where Sherlock could live safely. The landlady was a retired agent and her house was still connected to the underground tunnels that were part of the Buckingham Palace catacombs.

Mycroft would live in the private rooms at the Diogenes Club. Since the Holmes family had a crest on those founding plaques Uncle Rudy was able to mobilize not just any room but a secure private room in the basement so that Mycroft could have all the privacy he wanted.

Although there was a sense of mild urgency that was moving Uncle Rudy and that he was not quite divulging to them, all these arrangements took time and by the time everything was ready almost another year had passed.

In the meanwhile Sherlock had been studying face recognition patterns and language algorithms so as to ensure the most perfect socially functional android possible.

There was however one step that he resisted for many months. Mycroft was aware of it, especially in light of the decision that had been taken and that they had both carefully avoided talking about to the other.

One day Mycroft had finally gone to the basement laboratory and told Sherlock frankly that he didn’t care about the face of the robot any more.

“I have come to accept what I will look like but you need to make him look like a normal person so that this plan can work. So please go ahead and do it. Everything was lost in the fire but Uncle Rudy will have some old family photos and perhaps you can re-create what I would look like now?”

And so Sherlock did that and slowly, over a few weeks, many versions of Mycroft’s face-that-will-never-be started evolving.

A couple of months later when he finally unveiled the face, Mycroft just stared at the robot.

Clear cleanshaven fair skin, bright intelligent calculating eyes but an impassive expression. The robot delicately raised one eyebrow in an expression of disdain and when he tried to smile his lips curled in a smirk.

Of course the expressions were limited in range due to the materials Sherlock could use and the sophistication that the current technology allowed. But Mycroft knew that no matter what this robot face looked like, it was still infinitely better than his own hideously scarred face.

He managed a small tight smile at Sherlock and even managed to congratulate him on a job well done, while feeling waves of nausea roiling in his stomach.

_This was the face Sherlock was now going to look at every day._

_Why would he ever want to see the real Mycroft in person again?!_

.

.

Eventually, soon after Sherlock’s 19th birthday they made the move, under the cover of nightfall. Mrs. Hudson was waiting for Sherlock and Mycroft watched from the car as she gave him a hug and showed him the way upstairs.

He sat and watched as the light came on upstairs and the first thing he saw Sherlock do was to come to the window to look at him. He waved goodbye and was grateful for the distance and the scarf and sunglasses covering most of his face so that the tears streaming down his cheek were not visible.

Uncle Rudy then took him to the very comfortable chambers in the basement of the Diogenes. Mycroft looked around at the space that had a Sherlock- shaped hole in it and manged to stay composed when Uncle Rudy hugged him goodbye and thanked him for doing this for Queen and country.

“It is my duty Uncle Rudy.” Mycroft said. “You have done so much for us. This is the least we could do in return.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter but things have been crazy and I hope to polish what has been written so far and share it soon :) Hope that you are all safe and well!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow.”  
> ― Kahlil Gibran, The Broken Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter but I needed to just get started with writing this again! Took a long break because of the Supernatural finale and writing fics on that :) but hopefully the muse with cooperate with this too ! Hope you enjoy !!

They had connected him up with all the devices they could so that he could be in touch with Sherlock as often as was feasible but despite all that, both of them spent far too many nights in abject misery at the distance that had been put between them.

Mycroft had never imagined how bereft he would feel lying in a bed without Sherlock next to him. How miserable it would make him to wake up without the sight of those wild curly locks on the pillow next to his.

How bleak and empty this velvet curtained beautiful room with Baroque paintings could be without the presence of his brother’s eyes to look at them.

Indeed he was in a golden prison, like the mad woman in the attic or the Frankenstein’s monster in the basement….. but it could be worse. And at least Sherlock had a real chance at happiness now! That was all that mattered.

.

.

Sherlock was struggling in a way that made him swing from being suffocated to being sociopathic. He was simply not used to having to interact with people (who were not Mycroft!) and he had no way to communicate besides deductions.

He missed Mycroft like a drowning man misses air. He felt miserable and couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t explain it and he certainly couldn’t complain. Not when he knew Mycroft was getting a chance to do what he loved and that he was feeling useful to Queen and Country.

At least Mycroft had a real chance at happiness now! That was all that mattered.

He would just have to figure this out on his own. There had to be a solution.

.

And then one day as he wandered the cold lonely streets of London someone offered him a solution.

A 7% cocaine solution.

It started with a trial sample. Then he was offered it just once more.

‘Fancy another shot guv’nor?’ The man below the bridge asked him.

Sherlock wanted it.

It sharpened his mind but also took away the craving for Mycroft. He needed all he could get if he was to survive their separation. And thus it came to pass that Sherlock had slipped into addiction before anyone realized.

He was brilliant enough to be high functioning even when the cocaine was singing in his bloodstream and so a few months went by before anyone raised the alarm.

.

The day when Uncle Rudy came in and solemnly told him that Sherlock had been found in a doss house, sky high on drugs, Mycroft actually had a panic attack. He had not seen Sherlock for almost a month and now he couldn’t even go and help him.

It was his fault!! He should have noticed the signs! He should have deduced it from some speech pattern, or some conversation….something…anything. He could never forgive himself if any harm came to Sherlock! _What was his life worth if there was no Sherlock?!_

Finally Uncle Rudy had to get a nurse to give Mycroft a sedative.

As Mycroft slept in the underground chambers and Sherlock slept in a private hospital room Uncle Rudy wondered how they could find a way out of this terrible situation that did not mean sending the boys back to the estate.

Mycroft had already dazzled everyone in MI6 with his brilliance and the Queen would probably not take kindly to being told that he ‘missed his brother’ and needed to go back and stay with him. He could certainly not live with him openly at Baker Street because that would mean being seen in public and face-to-face interaction with other people and he was not sure Mycroft could manage that any more.

So he decided that they needed to find a way for Sherlock would get more interaction with Mycroft even if not in person. Maybe the best way was for the Robot Mycroft to get more regular uploads from the real one and for Mycroft to get more interaction with Sherlock through a system of surveillance.

.

So it came to pass that the level of surveillance inside 221B Baker Street increased gradually and very basic cameras and microphones were placed in all of the rooms.

The Robot Mycroft would be taken by car to the Diogenes Club twice every week so that Mycroft could link to it and upload his thoughts as well as download information and observations on Sherlock.

The first time he saw the very odd- looking headband with all the wires and electrodes Mycroft had been a bit skeptical. When Uncle Rudy told him that Sherlock had invented it he had smiled and worn it with utmost confidence.

It had taken them three sessions before the sheer volume of data that Mycroft held inside his Mind Palace could be even marginally uploaded to the Robot. Sherlock had spoken to him on the telephone and Mycroft heart had leaped with joy to hear his voice as well as the laugh when he had suggested going slow on the upload.

“Don’t want the Robot Mycroft’s brain to explode with all the information from your Mind Palace!”

“No indeed we would not want that!” Mycroft had said with a smile. “I will upload only selective memories and data, don’t worry.” He hesitated. “Do you address him as Robot Mycroft?”

“No.” Sherlock said tersely.

Mycroft waited.

“I have to call him by your name.” Sherlock said eventually. “I don’t _want_ to. I _have_ to.”

“It’s ok Sherlock.” Mycroft told him gently. “We knew that was the plan.”

“But maybe I can call _you_ by some other name.” Sherlock said.

“Sure brother mine.” Mycroft said gently, unable to bear the distress in Sherlock’s voice.

“Brother mine.” Sherlock murmured. “Mine.”

Mycroft sat in silence for a beat, savouring this moment.

“I will call you My.” Sherlock announced. “He can bear the formal name. But he can never replace you….you know that don’t you?”

“Yes indeed I do my dearest!” Mycroft replied. “But please please promise me that you will not put yourself in danger like this again?”

“It was for a case.” Sherlock said sullenly.

“Ok…sure.” Mycroft murmured. “But next time…please promise me that there will be a list?”

He heard the tone of the phone being disconnected and sighed. These were going to be difficult days.

.

He had no idea how accurate his prediction would be.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from the Tin man in Wizard of Oz


End file.
